


On that island is a Cannibal

by A_Quiet_Place



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Biting, Drug Use, Imprisonment, M/M, sexy dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 19:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Quiet_Place/pseuds/A_Quiet_Place
Summary: Will is imprisoned by unknown authority after the fall. His scrambled mind struggles to piece together his surroundings while it clings to the memory of Hannibal.





	On that island is a Cannibal

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago and never finished it. I might have it as a one off yet, but I think there's potential in there still for more.
> 
> Not Beta'd

Will lays on his hard cell bed, staring at the painted white ceiling. The blank surface offering him a visual white noise to the chaos of his mind.  
  
He is afraid to move, nausea envelops him like a long lost brother every time he turns his head. For now the ceiling it seems the most trustworthy surface to latch onto for grounding.  
  
The walls can't be trusted, they distort and stretch out, the bed beneath him seems to sway lazily beneath him, luring him into some nightmarish dream. Even his body feels uncertain, shaky, unable to navigate the paths of the space around him.

His depth perception is well and truly fucked.  
  
He tries to steady his breathing, counting to three and breathing in and out is a slow rhythm. Forcing his focus onto conversations that may or may not be happening around him.  
  
“William Graham.” Comes a measured tone, it's not a voice he knows, and the repeated motion of the room falling away and flicking back into place has discouraged him from trying to find the source.   
  
Is he with Hannibal? Perhaps he is in therapy.   
No, the room feels wrong. He hasn't conversed with Hannibal for a while. Three years? Three days?  
  
Will squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop the spinning. His throat is so dry he only manages a choked sound in response.

 _He can see printed on the insides of his eyelids, Hannibal approaching him with so much want in his eyes, pouring pure need into him like a tidal wave, washing out all his own thoughts._  
  
 _Will too, had wanted so much._  
  
“We've had to keep him sedated.” The voice interrupts the reverie calmly, somewhere to his left as a white gloved hand taps his cheek. “He is in an extremely volatile state.”

_Will feels Hannibal's hands on his face, pulling him forward and disarming him with a kiss. The cannibal's hands caress his form from back to his chest in slow sensual strokes, forcing moans from his lips as his warm palms brush over sensitive nipples._

God, was that real?

There are more voices in his skull, bouncing off the bone forcing him from his dream – or his reality, he can't recall. The hand on his face departs, tearing the carnal thoughts away with it.  
  
“What is the current relationship between him and Doctor Lecter?” Another voice, feminine, not Alana's.

Will knows the answer, he could put his hand up, tell them all that he had felt and seen Hannibal's hunger, the unfettered monster beneath the surface, bursting from the person suit grown too small to contain it. That he was fettered to the beast, ball and chain. But his voice refused, calling on his lies.

They were the monster together or not at all.  
  
“Hannibal Lecter, has in many cases, manipulated his patients into becoming-” _The voice is cut out by the roaring sound of wind and waves pounding against rocks._

_Will's vision blurs, his heart begins to pound as the water rushes up to meet him. He can't breathe, he can't find Hannibal. It's blisteringly cold, his body is in shock, he barely even feels when a vice like grip hauls him out of the water._

Will's breath rushing back into his lungs in wheezing gasps. He jolts against the bed as the touch returns, brushing along his forehead, not quite soothing, more as if to wipe away the sweat that has beaded there.   
  
“Recently, Doctor Lecter has proven his attachment to Mr Graham is far beyond manipulation of his mind.” The voice carries on as if Will hadn't reacted at all. A face leans over him now, blurred, and shifting like a kaleidoscope, hard to pin into place, harder still to remember. The gloved hands roughly pull him up just a bit to expose the back of his neck.

There's a hum of surprise followed by more words that fade into an annoying buzz, but Will is following those pain filled touches through his mind.  
  
S _harp teeth sink into the flesh at the back of his shoulders, bringing forth blossoms of blood. Will is gasping, and keening at the pain. Hannibal rolls his hips as his teeth worry at the flesh, pressing his shaft into the wounded body beneath him. Will feels like he's stretched to the point of bursting, every inward thrust feels excruciating in its pleasure._  
  
The hands once more leave the marks on his skin, dragging him from the memories they hold. Will is dimly aware of the conversation around him. He's shaking now, body hot with sweat and shameful arousal. 

His world spins dangerously when he tries to move away, the bruised marks of flesh at his shoulders sting with the scratch of fabric, and the ache, _fuck_ , _the ache_. It was a persistent throb deep inside him, forcing soft gasps from his lips if he bent just so.  
  
It might have been real.

He is dimly aware of his company, his mind a chaotic mess of past and present, the voices seem to echo through his mind like voices in a dream.

“Hannibal Lecter may be the knife,” The robotic voice intones, “But William Graham is the hand.” _  
_  
_He sees Hannibal in the back of his mind, eyes glinting with predatory intent, that stillness about him screaming silently about death waiting to happen._  
  
' _Soon, Will.'_ That soothing voice says to him, and again he finds himself at the mercy of trusting Hannibal. Grounding himself on Hannibal.

 _Oh, god._  
  
A sharp pain in the side of his neck makes his muscles stiffen then slowly relax, the hazy world around him going dark at the edges, sending Will adrift.

 _His bed rocks on the freezing ocean, a lonely boat tossed about on the waves. There is a steady hand on his shoulder kneading into the bite marks, sending sharp needles of pain through his flesh to make him shiver in delight._  
  
When a tube is forced down his throat, his mind turns back to Hannibal. Following broken visions back to the past during the throws of his encephalitis.

Abigail couldn't lose any more ears.

_Oh, god._

_Her large blue eyes stare at him as the blood pours from the side of her head. She smiles, encouraging. If he keeps it down, part of her will have been inside him, giving him strength. For her he would. He would keep part of her with him, he wont fail her again._

_'What do you see, Will?' The velvet voice at his ear make shim groan inwardly, it sends a delicious ache into the pit of him. He nearly screams when those teeth revisit the flesh on his neck._

_The pain sparks along his skin in waves, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling. Florescent bulbs above him begin to sway along his vision rocking him back into his mind. The room falls away, and with it Abigail and Hannibal, the tube and the pain._

His breath evens out, the muscles in his jaw relax. His mind grasps at fragmented information like torn net trying catch small fish.   
  
His mind pulls forth the stray words of conversations held around him, sorting them like a puzzle missing pieces. The doors to his memory palace are swinging open and shut, offering their bits and pieces.  
  
“He is an anomaly, he becomes those he hunts. We've had him profile some of the rest of our collection, I will be happy to show you.” The robot voice says conversationally to his companions.   
__  
There are faces in the dark, with names attached like a grim photo album. Knox, and Morgan. The names are not important, what they are is important. They had tried to lie to him, tried to hide form him.  
  
“We believe Hannibal cultivated himself in Will, though to what extent we are still uncertain.”  
  
Does he become Hannibal? No, no it is more than that. They become each other, they will again soon.  
  
“Unfortunately there have been incidents that have forced us to keep Mr Graham sedated until he is required.” 

_Will remembers biting flesh, feeling the spray of blood spray across his face. Hannibal would have been proud._

It's enough to make Will smile as he recedes, following Hannibal into the maze of his mind, following him down the hallways, where he is kept isolated from the rest of Will's collection of murderers. A place of honor.  
 _  
When they stand face to face Hannibal reaches a hand to him. His eyes are hungry._

_What do you see, Will?_   
  
A voice echoes around his mind like a pebble dropped into a canyon-- bouncing its way down to the pit of his consciousness.

He can feel the vibrations of the words humming against his ear drums and he knows somehow that the question is not all it seems to be. There's more to the simple sounds coiling around him, secrets hidden underneath a shift of tongue. But he can't find them.

_He can't find them._

It's a noxious little puzzle that spurs him into cataloguing his senses, pulling his consciousness into the forefront of his mind. He is aware that he is moving slowly through maze-like halls of white stone. Its endless turning of corners and flickering florescent lights disorient him, making his head spin when he tries to focus on any particular detail. The voices around him have receded until they have faded into the background and all but disappeared.

It's almost strange that he is unsure of how or why he started or where he is going, but he can't seem to bring any helpful information forward in his thoughts. His emotions are muffled and distant, like they are finally in the padded cell they belong in, far from his heart and mind.  
  
After far too long a time, Will becomes aware he has no control over his speed. A frown creases between his brows in a concentrated effort to focus. His gait is too smooth for a walk, he doesn't feel the floor beneath his feet, or the movement of his legs.

Perhaps he has sprouted wheels, his body finally deciding to evolve after years of driving.

He tries not to giggle. Something of a hiccup sound escapes his lips, instead.   
  
_What do you remember, Will?_

His amusement fades away as quickly as it comes. Gathering his thoughts feels as though he is stumbling around in the darkness trying to find a set of keys. The memories are disjointed, they come at him in flashes -- jumbled and out of place. _  
_  
 _A spray of blood paints the white walls red. He's laughing and the taste of iron is fresh on his tongue. Chaos erupts around him, he struggles, there is brief pain, then he is sent reeling into the depths of his mind._

_For a time there is silence._

_Then slowly, wading within the madness of his addled thoughts he comes upon an island._

 

_On that island is a cannibal._

 

 


End file.
